


I never believed the devil was real (but God couldn't make someone filthy as you)

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Anonymous Sex, Bestiality, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Fantasy Fulfillment, Gangbang, Genderplay, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Masochism, Prostitution, Truckers, Voyeurism, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 20:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18038033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Tell you what,” Brian says. “Give me any bombs you got in the truck and I’ll let you watch and Duke can have a go for free.” John’s stomach churns, but his cock jerks. Is Brian just. Offering him up to a dog? A few of the truckers laugh, one whistles lowly.John's a lot lizard, Brian's his pimp, and some truckers gang bang him. There's also a dog.





	I never believed the devil was real (but God couldn't make someone filthy as you)

**Author's Note:**

> I am posting this anonymously and as an original work because the fandom I write in is so small everyone would know it was me by the ship alone, and I REALLY don't need this attached to me. They're enough different from canon they might as well be OCs anyway. If you know who I am I am BEGGING you not to put me on blast but y'know, DM me on the blue hell site if you want I guess.
> 
> Everything here is fully consensual. Everyone here is of age. But like, there's dog fucking. Also not tagged because there's no canon tags: piss enema, general disrespect/disregard for the sub's safety/wellbeing, homophobic language in a kink context. There's a little bit of aftercare, but not much. It's mostly off-camera. Also, "bombs" are short for "trucker bombs", AKA bottles of piss they hold onto when they don't want to or can't stop for a leak.
> 
> Title is from Slutgarden by Marilyn Manson
> 
> See you in hell comrades

It gets real quiet at the truck stop about a quarter to one in the morning. John’s halfway through a pack of cigarettes he sucked a dick for around ten, mostly out of boredom. He’s sitting at the base of a lamp post, wrapped in his fur coat, stomach full of jizz, sucking on a lollipop so he doesn’t have dick breath. It’s almost his favorite part of the night. A bit past one, a few different lines cross, usually half a dozen trucks stopping at the station to refuel, buy some food, and maybe hire some company. John’s a very happy lot lizard when that happens.

 

Brian’s stood next to him, leaning back against the pole, counting through bags of pills, bags of powders. John stays sober, sticks to cigarettes. Brian’s good about not getting high off his own supply. Yellow light glows from between the redwoods, and Brian pockets the bags in his leather jacket. The truck comes around the corner and pulls into the lot, and John stands up, heart-shaped lollipop between his painted lips. If Brian wasn’t well over six foot, they’d look the pair of pretty goth girls, a couple trashy addicts. John’s smaller, but still probably too tall to be mistaken for a girl from afar. He has the slight figure of a coke fiend supermodel from the late nineties with a girlish waist and a round ass, barely covers it with tiny pairs of shorts shoplifted from the junior’s section, one of Brian’s t-shirts torn into a crop top. Brian insists he wear the fur coat since they stay outside all night, unless they get lifted to the motel half a mile down.

 

John wanders over to the truck, waits nearby with Brian not far behind him. The cab door opens and a large man comes out of it, squarely built, plods down the steps onto the gravel parking lot. John pops the lolly from his mouth. 

 

“Hey Jim,” he says, the smirk already hinting in his voice. “We’re having a party tonight. Wanna join?”

 

“Hell yeah,” Jim says, voice low and rough, gravel crunching under his boots. “Came prepared.” He waves Brian over, and they shake hands. John doesn’t miss the swap of cash. 

 

“Got any bombs in the truck?” Brian asks. “Give you a bar for em.”

 

After about half an hour, there’s a group of them chain smoking outside the men’s room entrance. Six of them. John knows them all, has serviced them before. Brian’s exchanging cash and baggies, and John’s inside the bathroom, preening in the mirror, cleaning up, down to his fishnets and his collar and nothing else. He fluffs his hands through his mess of platinum hair. He’s already half hard just at the thought of what he’s about to do, what Brian’s about to  _ allow _ him to do.

 

John’s finishing up making sure his pits are perfectly hairless, sat on the edge of the sink, when he hears a new voice outside. He stops, shuts the water off, listens.

 

“Hey fellas,” the voice says. Another man, one whose voice John doesn’t know. “What’s the occasion?” John hears the distinct sound of a dog panting, its claws on concrete.

 

“Got us a fag in there ready to fuck,” Rick says. The casualness with which he says it makes John shiver.

 

“Ain’t free though,” Brian says. 

 

“How ‘bout to watch?” the guy says. Brian pops his tongue.

 

“Who’s this?” Brian asks. John wants to peek out, see what’s going on, but there’s the jingle of the dog’s collar as Brian scratches it. 

 

“His name’s Duke,” the guy says.

 

“He intact?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Tell you what,” Brian says. “Give me any bombs you got in the truck and I’ll let you watch and Duke can have a go for free.” John’s stomach churns, but his cock jerks. Is Brian just. Offering him up to a dog? A few of the truckers laugh, one whistles lowly.

 

“You’re a sick bastard, Brian,” Carl says.

 

“Deal,” the guy says. “I’m Dave.”

 

“Brian,” Brian says. “Get those bombs for me and meet us in the shower.”

 

Brian’s the first around the corner, grabs John by the collar, his curtain of bottle-black hair obscuring their faces from the truckers as he leans in, forehead to John’s.

 

“Were you listening to us?” Brian asks, voice quiet. He pulls John by his collar around the divider wall and yanks him down onto the wet tile, his knees hitting hard. “Then you know you’re in for something even better than we planned, huh? You’re already fucking hard; you’re disgusting.” John pushes his hair back, looks up at Brian, who’s turned back to their audience. Dave has rejoined them, carrying two soda bottles full of yellow liquid in one hand, Duke’s leash in the other. Which is when John finally gets his first look at him. Duke looks like some kind of shepherd mix, easily larger than John is. Brian collects the two bottles from Dave, who’s looking John over, and John practically squirms from feeling so stared at, with eight sets of eyes on him. Well, nine sets, if you count Duke.

 

“Alright, you know the rules, but I’ll reiterate for the new guy,” Brian says. “If you pull any bullshit that endangers my whore, I’m armed, and I will not fuckin’ hesitate. Don’t fuckin’ touch his collar. I get it, sometimes you can’t help it if you’re cumming, but you get one warning. First come first serve, so Jim gets first dibs on his asshole. You’re welcome to grab all you want while both of his ends are occupied, but his dick is off limits. Don’t touch it. If he cums he cums, but don’t  _ make _ him cum; that’s my responsibility only. And my word goes. Understood?”

 

Various noises of understanding and agreement. John turns over onto his knees, on all fours, and Brian reaches down to pet his hair.

 

“Ready,” John says. Jim steps up first, wide hands grabbing John’s fishnetted ass. He drops to a knee behind him, rips a hole in John’s fishnets, spits down his crack. John’s already prepared, cleaned out, so Jim’s first two fingers shove in easily. John purrs, arching into it. There’s more hands on him, bodies around him, the sounds of belts unbuckling. John feels himself slip into it, slip into his favorite place, as the first cock sinks into him. There’s another cock in front of him and John reaches for it with his painted fingers, pulls it in, takes it into his mouth. He’s thoroughly overwhelmed by men, the smell of them, the taste of dick, being stretched open by it.

 

“Good little faggot,” Carl’s voice says above him. John gags on the length in his throat, retches, but doesn’t pull off. Fingers dig into his waist, pulling him back on the cock fucking him open.

 

“I gotta piss,” Rick’s voice says. John bobs his head off the hard dick in front of him, and he grabs a handful of Rick’s jeans, opens his mouth wide.

 

“Damn, the urinal doesn’t even need to be asked,” one of the men above him comments. John’s not sure who it is, because Rick’s pissing in his open mouth, and he’s struggling to swallow down as much as he can. Rick aims up, wetting John’s blonde hair, letting his bangs stick to his forehead, and once the stream stops, John pushes his wet hair back out of his eyes.

 

“Thank you,” he says quickly, before diving right back down on the cock. Jim’s fucking him hard now, hips smacking into his ass.

 

“I’m gonna breed this fag hole,” Jim says through gritted teeth. A hand grabs his hair, pulls him up.

 

“Beg for that load,” a voice demands.

 

“Please give me your dirty load,” John begs, fucking himself back on the dick. There’s another cock in his face and John takes it with his free hand, mouthing sloppily at it. “Please fill my pussy, please--”

 

“Fuck, yeah,” Jim groans, hips stilling against John’s ass as he unloads inside him. John moans, feeling his cock jerk reflexively, fills his mouth with the other dick, chokes himself on it. John whines when he’s empty again, but there’s another length burying into his used hole before he has a chance to ask for one. John moans again, even louder.

 

“Fuck me, fuck me--” John gasps, but someone forces his mouth down on their erection. John retches, his body curling in, but he takes it as his face is fucked. His eyes are running, makeup smeared and ruined. He loses track of whose cock is whose, how many have fucked him and how many he’s had in his throat.

 

Eventually, John’s left laying on the shower floor, face glazed in cum, ass leaking it. He grins, pushing it into his mouth.

 

“You’re disgusting,” Brian says. “I don’t think Duke wants a bitch as filthy as you.” John looks up at Brian, standing over him, a soda bottle full of piss in his hand. He unscrews the cap. “How old would you say this is?” Brian asks their audience.

 

“I dunno, day or two,” Dave says. John bites back a smile.

 

Brian turns the bottle over and cold piss showers down over John, making him shudder, automatically crossing his arms over his chest. John quickly sits up as Brian finishes dumping the bomb on him, is immediately handed another.

 

“That not enough nasty ass old trucker piss for you?” Brian remarks. He tosses the lid behind him, and John waits open mouthed, stale piss making him gag as he’s drenched in it. Still, he preens in it, white hair soaked yellow, skin gleaming under the shitty fluorescent lighting.

 

“More, please,” John begs, and Brian obliges him. Another bottle is turned out onto him, a smaller one, and John whines when it’s empty.

 

“Don’t be fuckin’ greedy,” Brian says, cutting, and John bites his lip. “We gotta clean this disgusting dirty ass out. There’s what, how many loads in there? Four? Duke doesn’t deserve sloppy seconds, let alone  _ fifths _ .” John turns obediently, offers Brian his ass, his hands sliding in the puddle he kneels in. Brian squats behind him, plugs the mouth of the next bottle into his asshole, turns it over and squeezes. John gasps as cold piss floods his insides, and cries out when stomach cramps up. “There we fuckin’ go. Get all that jizz out of you.” Brian pulls the bottle away and John is so fucked open he can’t even stop the flow of piss that gushes out of him. “Christ, that’s vile. Look at you. Laying on a truck stop shower floor, freshly gangbanged, shitting piss out your ass.”

 

“I’m so gross,” John says, but he can’t keep the grin off his face.

 

“Dave, bring your boy over here,” Brian says, standing, and a rush of adrenaline sparks through John. This is it. His last defilement, his last humiliation. He almost regrets telling Brian about this fantasy. Almost.

 

John jumps when a cold wet nose sniffs at his ass. He doesn’t dare glance back, just looks at the shower floor, tinted yellow with piss, feels his heart pound as Duke sniffs him.

 

“He fucked a bitch before?” Brian asks. 

 

“I let ‘im fuck any lot lizard that lets ‘im,” Dave says. A flat, hot tongue licks over his hole and John gasps, eyes widening. “Good boy, eat ‘er out before you fuck ‘er, be a gentleman.” John shudders as the dog’s long tongue slicks into his ass, a shaky moan slipping out. He’s not sure if he’s so hard from being licked out or the fact that it’s a  _ dog _ .

 

“Damn, John,” Brian says above him, “I don’t know if you’ve taken anything this big before. Maybe my fist, but that wasn’t attached to an animal with no regard for your comfort.”

 

“C’mon, Duke,” Dave says, patting John’s back. A mass off warm fur lays into John’s back as paws reach around him, claws scratching at his ribs, pointy wet cock stabbing at him, missing. “Almost there, boy--” John feels Duke’s cock be assisted to his hole, and with one quick thrust, he’s in.

 

Duke fucks rough, quick, careless of John. And yet, John’s moaning, so stuffed full of dick he feels he could cum on it instantly. The dog rails into him, nails scraping his sides red, cock impossibly hot inside him. John cries out, feels tears break from his lashes as he’s fucked, piss drying on his skin.

 

“That’s a pretty bitch, ain’t she, boy,” Dave’s voice says, but John’s only vaguely aware of it. He can feel his cock drooling, his body entirely overwhelmed by dog, wet tongue lapping at the back of his neck, sliding under his collar. “You breed ‘er when you’re ready, Duke.”

 

And fuck, John doesn’t want him to be done. But it’s quick, and he feels Duke swell up inside him, the knot stretching him impossibly wider open, and John’s mouth falls open in a silent moan as it rubs right into his sweet spot, eyes nearly rolling back in his head.

 

“Oh shit, are you gonna cum on a fucking dog cock?” Brian asks, voice disbelieving, but John nods, shallow breaths.

 

“Please, please,” John begs, his orgasm coiling in his hips, pooling, as the knot grows impossibly larger inside him. “Please let me cum on a dog dick.”

 

“Yeah, do it, cum on that fucking knot,” Brian says, and John gives a weak cry, the orgasm ripping through him, spilling all over the floor, ass clenching tight around Duke’s cock. John ruts back at the dog, riding out his orgasm, and Duke whines in his ear.

 

“He’s gonna breed ‘er,” Dave says, and John pants to catch his breath as he feels what seems like gallons of hot cum pump into his guts. John actually sobs with pleasure, feeling some of it leak out behind the knot when Duke turns off him, his claws clicking against the bathroom tile as he turns away, knot still locked inside John’s ass, tied to him.

 

“Oh, fuck,” John whispers, breathless.

 

John starts to come down, gathers that he’s  _ tied _ with a fucking  _ dog _ . His ass is full of cum, flooding him, and John shakes a little from the power of his orgasm and the realization that his last real fantasy has finally realized itself. John’s so spaced out, deep in subspace, that he doesn’t realize most of the truckers are gone by the time Duke finally pulls out, cum splattering onto the floor, dog nails skidding on the wet tile. He hears Dave tell Brian he’ll be back, and it’s quiet for a long moment until Brian’s boots appear on the tile in front of him. John sits back on his legs, looks up at Brian, hazy-eyed, blissed out, black makeup streaking down his cheeks.

 

“You’re fucking incredible,” Brian says. “Let me clean you up.”

 

Brian starts the showers up, helps John to his feet, and holds John’s filthy face in his hands.

 

“You looked absolutely beautiful with that dog on you, you know that?” Brian says softly, barely audible over the water. John bites back a grin, feels himself blush. Brian’s fingers trace over John’s collar.

 

“You’re the best,” John says. “Thank you.” Brian guides him under the hot water.


End file.
